


I'm starting to think you like getting hit

by Starla-Nell (Princess_Nell)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1930's kink scene mention, Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Beating, Biting, Bucky just really loves getting hit okay?, Cock Slapping, Condoms, Domestic, Established Relationship, First-Time Kink, Flogging, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, Kink Negotiation, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masochism, Orders, Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Punching, Rope Bondage, Sadism, Spanking, sweetheart Dom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 15:41:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15197981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Nell/pseuds/Starla-Nell
Summary: A few months into their relationship, Steve answers something Bucky asked 75 years ago. Sexy funtimes ensue.





	I'm starting to think you like getting hit

**Author's Note:**

> No plot derailed my porn this time! 
> 
> About Bucky:  
> Wakandan technology is amazing. Hydra’s various traumas must have riddled Bucky’s brain, but he’s calm & happy in the Black Panther movie bump and able to face battle again in Infinity War. They talk about him being ‘fixed’ or ‘healed,’ but I’m going with he’s also got all his memories back. 
> 
> Food:  
> MCU Wakanda is at the intersection of Ethiopia, South Sudan, Kenya, and Uganda. I chose Ethiopian food because we have a local restaurant so I know what it tastes like. Injera is a flat bread like a thin, sour crepe. Berbera and mitmita are spice blends. Mitmita is hotter. Wot is similar to stew but thicker. I used translations or explained in-text for everything else. Everything is amazing, and I recommend trying it. 
> 
> I know a little about a lot of things for this fic. Mostly I wanted to play with the structure of the kink scene and show these two finally getting to be domestic together. So if I messed anything up, from the food to kink history to the sex, etc. etc., please drop a comment or a Tumblr message and I’ll fix it. :)
> 
> Edit: Now beta'd by the incomparable Rosehip, @october-rosehip on Tumblr! They caught some great details I missed. I took a few shortcuts anyway (until I have more time to add detail on, for instance, the kitchen). If anything is wrong, you get to yell at me, not them.

“Not particularly, but I wonder if you do,” Steve says out of the blue in their outdoor kitchen. Well, technically it’s Bucky’s, but he already thinks of it as _theirs_.

It’s a gorgeous afternoon, the spices giving the air a hunger-inducing quality. Steve has picked Wakandan cooking up pretty well, but he wants to practice making the injera before he serves it to guests.

“What’s that?” Bucky asks, distracted. He’s dumping the chopped onions and garlic into a pot with spiced clarified butter. Steve has been quiet and thoughtful while they chopped the veggies, obviously wrestling with some problem. Bucky had predicted he’d talk about it when he had his own thoughts in order, but this isn’t what he was expecting.

“I-uh might be responding to a question you asked 75 years ago,” Steve admits, tucking the salad in the fridge and grabbing the cooled injera batter.

“That’s pretty exact, pal,” Bucky says. “Is the pan clean? It’s got to be perfect.”

“It’s perfect. Believe me, I learned my lesson when it fell apart last time,” Steve says, smiling. “You asked me the day I finally succeeded in joining the military. Hard to forget.”

Bucky doesn’t remember any unanswered questions, so he just waits, letting his amusement simmer as he stirs the food.

Steve clears his throat. “So. I went to see a movie that day,” he says, pouring an open circle of batter on the griddle. He fills the circle in with a poured spiral. “Some jerk was shouting disrespect about the service”—

“And of course you called him on it.” Bucky grabs the mitmita.

“I couldn’t let it stand, Buck!” Steve says, taking the mitmita before Bucky can add it and handing him the berbera. “There were wives and daughters of soldiers there.”

“Was this how you ended up getting beat up in the alley behind the theater that day?” Bucky adds a _generous_ amount of berbera.

Steve’s smirk is more self-depreciating than cocky as he sets the lid over the bread to let it steam. “Yeah.”

“God, you did that so much. I was starting to wonder…” Bucky trails off, putting together what Steve had said at the start of this conversation. His mouth goes dry as he divides his mixture, half going into a second pot for the chickpea wat, mind racing.

“You asked me if I liked getting hit,” Steve says. “I’ve had that response sitting on the tip of my tongue for 75 years, and I guess it finally fell off.”

“ _Stevie_.” He stirs a splash of water into the chickpea wat and lets it simmer while he adds tomato paste to the lentil wat. “Why didn’t you ask then?” _Shit, what do I need to add next?_ This conversation’s going to kill him, or at least the meal. As Steve talks, Bucky dumps water into anything that looks too thick, hoping he’s judging it right.

“The Journal of Criminal Psychopathology article had just come out.” Steve shrugs, sliding the first injera onto the round mat Nakia had given him. “I like to think I’m brave, not stupid. I didn’t want to risk a friendship I valued as much as yours.” Steve snorts, turning to Bucky. “Plus, you know, if you’d answered the way I hoped, I couldn’t have given you what you wanted before the serum.”

_The way he hoped._

“You could have, though,” Bucky blurts. “There are… tools…” He trails off at Steve’s stunned face and his own amazement. “Huh. We’re really made for each other, aren’t we?”

Steve sets his plastic pitcher of injera batter down, laughing, and Bucky just barely has time to set the water pitcher down before Steve wraps him in a laughing, overjoyed hug.

“Bedroom,” Bucky says in Steve’s ear.

Steve releases him and pulls back, still grinning like Christmas. “Don’t we need to…” he gestures around at the food.

Bucky struggles with two opposing needs. “Fuck it,” he decides emphatically. _It’ll be fine._

“Language!” Steve’s still grinning. “We need to finish this first. We have a lot to talk about.”

“You trying to build anticipation, punk?” Bucky accuses, but he lets Steve go and adds water to the lentil wat before it burns.

“Not exactly.” Steve cleans the griddle enthusiastically. “The talking’s important, and I don’t want the food to go to waste.”

Bucky snorts as he stirs in the lentils. “We’re not scraping by or anything.” No one does, in Wakanda.

“More like, it would ruin my mood.” The punk still hasn’t lost that grin.

If Bucky doesn’t get to act on this right now, at least he can make the conversation entertaining. “All right, but I won’t be held responsible if a wat burns because you said the word ‘flogger’.” He carefully whisks the chickpea powder into the chickpea wat, watching Steve’s eyes get a little bigger as he picks up his injera batter.

“People will agree to things they shouldn’t when they’re horny,” Steve says to the smoother spiral of batter he’s pouring onto his griddle. “I don’t want to hurt you in a way you don’t want.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “You do know I’ve been through worse than a little spanking, pal?” Not all his scars are from battle.

“Yeah,” Steve says, “but you’re never gonna go through _worse_ with _me_.”

This _man._ Another wave of desire washes over Bucky. He growls low and takes a step closer.

“Nope!” Steve says, retreating and putting the pitcher of batter between them. “No touching till we’re done talking.”

“Don’t make me chase you,” Bucky says. “Or are you into that?” He grins again.

Steve lets out a breath like a horse. “It’s distracting. I won’t be able to think straight.”

“Good,” Bucky says, taking another step.

“Am I going to have to tie you down?”

Bucky stops, brain short-circuiting on the thought of Steve + rope.

“Yeah, guess not. I don’t want _you_ distracted, either. Look. Can you trust that I need to talk about this, even if you don’t?”

Bucky takes a step back. “Yeah. Yes. Sorry, Steve.”

“Thank you.” Steve turns back to his injera, examining the bubbles. He rushes to set the lid over it.

Bucky stirs each of the stews to keep his mind off touching Steve… or goading him into _making_ Bucky stop.

“So,” Steve says, smiling, “tying you down, huh?”

Bucky smiles back, a gentler spike of pleasure shooting through him. “Yeah.”

“And you like to be hit. Do you like the pain sharp or thuddy?” Steve asks like he’s asking about a preference for spices or something.

Bucky thinks through those long-ago scenes when he snuck out to be tied to a sturdy Parisian easel while the pain pounded into him.

“I like it when it’s thuddy,” Bucky says.

Steve nods, pouring another injera. “Okay. Your back okay? You have… a good back for hitting.”

“Wait. Steve. How do you know anything about kink? Did I miss you at the Village scene?” _God, what a waste._

Steve laughs. “No. Ah. I was interested in topping, but I couldn’t imagine just picking a random fairy in Greenwich Village to test that idea. Peg taught me how to top properly. Specialized training, we called it. She was a top, herself, learned it on shore leave in France, but she liked to watch. She said it was worth her time to train me.”

Bucky’s eyebrows twitch up. “That must’ve been fun.”

Steve smiles. “Yeah, it really was. I wish… well. There wasn’t a lot of time once I was fighting in the war, instead of training or doing Brandt’s song-and-dance routine.”

Bucky quickly puts together what Steve might have wished. The context doesn’t make it difficult. “You would have risked telling me…?”

“I figured out you at least weren’t a homophobe during the war. I was hoping we could get a bachelor flat after the war and just… stay bachelors.” Steve pulls off another injera and adds it to the stack.

Bucky grins. “You could have found a woman, you know.”

“I know,” Steve says. “I wanted it to be you, even then.” He’s scrubbing the griddle again, making sure every fleck of batter is off it.

“God, you’re such a sap,” Bucky says, grinning. “I’ve lost my hard-on.”

“Flogger,” Steve says, laughing when Bucky knocks his big spoon out of the shallow pot, spraying wat across the ground. “I guess that’s a yes.” Steve’s batter sizzles as it hits the griddle.

“I thought you didn’t want to waste food!” Bucky says, aggrieved.

“So,” Steve continues blithely. “Thuddy at first to get your pain tolerance up, then I can be cruel?”

“I have trouble seeing you as cruel,” Bucky admits as he soaps up the spoon.

“I can fix that for you.”

 _Christ preserve me._ “Sometime tonight?”

“As soon as we’re done eating.”

“We could store it and eat after. I only have so much patience, Steve.” The spoon’s clean.

“You’re going to need your strength. Are there limits on _where_ I can hit?”

“I just realized.” Bucky blinks, pausing in his stirring. “This means you have a flogger. In our room somewhere.”

“I have several toys in our room somewhere.”

“Rope?” the word pops out of Bucky’s mouth without input from his brain.

“Rope that will be gorgeous against your skin, Buck.”

Bucky closes his eyes at the sound of Steve’s voice when he says that, tips his head heavenward and sucks in a deep breath.

“The lentil wat is smoking,” Steve says.

Bucky jumps to bring down the heat and stir the wat before it scorches. “You’re making me a bad cook,” he complains, getting water to moisten the mixture again.

“I have to surpass the master somehow,” Steve teases. Then he takes the lid off his pan and grabs the mat again, glancing at Bucky. “Limits on where I can hit you. It’s important.”

Bucky thinks about rough sex and rescues food at the same time, adding a bit of water, and it helps stop him from throwing himself at Steve’s feet. “I can take it anywhere,” he admits, “if I’m deep enough into subspace.”

Steve hisses in a breath. “Good to know,” he says.

“Oh, you like that?” Bucky teases, finally getting the right thickness on the lentil wat. “Like the idea of me taking everything you can dish out, do you?”

Steve pours another spiral of batter onto the immaculate griddle. “I really do.” Suddenly Bucky gets an image of Steve naked except for a ‘kiss the cook’ apron and those fucking Captain America boots.

“Fuck me,” Bucky swears before he can get a lid on it.

“So that’s how you want to cum?” Steve asks, pouring batter into the holes of his spiral.

Bucky chokes on air. Judging by Steve’s smile, he’s having way too much fun catching Bucky off guard.

“I…” Bucky finishes coughing, then tries again. “I don’t actually care if I cum. But yeah, I’ll want to feel you inside me after you hit me enough.”

Steve gapes at him, and Bucky wonders if he’d revealed too much until Steve says, “I have got to be the luckiest man on earth.”

“Not like you don’t deserve it, punk,” Bucky says, smiling with relief.

“I want you to cum while I fuck you, and then I want to fuck you some more,” Steve says, smoldering. “Can you do that for me?”

Bucky sucks in a breath. “Ask me _again_ when you do.”

Steve smirks at him.

“Ah. I might need a hand on my cock,” Bucky admits. “I’ve never cum from just being fucked.”

“Hmm,” Steve muses, tilting his head and messing with the griddle lid. “I know a good goal when I see one.”

“Goddamn, Steve. You are not making this easy.”

“It’s tough for me too, pal, but there’s a little more to talk about. Plus food.” He gestures at his pile of injera. Not one of them tore apart this time.

“Fine.” Bucky sighs, lowering the heat on his pots from simmer to warm. “What else do you need to know?”

Steve seems to have a mental checklist. “How long do you like to float after?” He spirals injera batter onto the griddle then pours the last of it in a clean jar they’d saved. Steve trades this starter for the fresh salad he’d chopped earlier.

“I… what? I mean, depends how much time we’ve got, but fifteen minutes or a half-hour is good.”

Steve smiles. “Do you have any plans this evening?”

“Nope, Shuri’s giving me a few days since you’re here. Why?”

“I want to give you something nice.”

Bucky lets his eyes drop below Steve’s belt, sticks his ass out suggestively. “I thought that was the idea.”

Steve laughs, moves the last injera to a round tray. “That’s as much for me as you. I hope I can give you something sweet, at the end, but it takes time.”

“I’m intrigued, and I have all night.”

Steven grins as they roll most of the injera, then Bucky dollops the wats and a little awazi, a spicy sauce made almost entirely of berbere peppers, onto the injera lining the tray. Steve adds his fresh salad and the rolled-up injera, and he carries the whole tray into the dining room, where they sit at a small, low table on cushions.

Bucky lets his metal arm rest in his lap as they eat, pulling off chunks of injera and picking up globs of the wats and the salad.

“Take your time, Buck,” Steve says, tucking a bite into his mouth. “Savor it.” Bucky snorts and hand-feeds him a bite, tracing Steve’s lips with his fingers.

“What do you want to use as a safeword?” Steve asks.

“I don’t know,” Bucky admits. “It’s been a while. You?”

“I find ‘ice’ works for me.”

Bucky blinks. It makes perfect sense for Steve… now, not wartime Steve.

“Yeah,” he says. “That works for me, too, actually. I don’t think using ice in bed would be a good time for us.”

“Something wrong?” Steve asks, scooping up some food with the injera.

Bucky shakes his head. “I’m glad we’re talking. It’s good to know where we’re coming from. I haven’t had… time, or inclination… to try kink again. Since the war.”

“You sure you’re still going to like it?”

“Heh. The idea alone makes me lose my mind a little, so yeah. I’m probably going to like it. A lot.”

Steve shrugs. “Sometimes an idea can be hot in theory but terrible in practice.”

“That’s what the safeword is for.” Bucky shoves another piece of injera into Steve’s mouth.

Steve surprises Bucky by dipping his next bite in awazi until Steve offers it to Bucky. He grins and accepts it. Then Bucky remembers something else he would love, something that for him pairs perfectly with the fun kind of beating.

“Steve,” he says, concentrating on picking up his lentil wat with the injera. Even if Steve doesn’t want to do it, it will work out. “Could you…” and because he’s truly a masochist, he asks: “…humiliate me when we get started?”

Steve gives him a look, but it’s more curious than anything else. “I’ve never done it before, but I’ve done research… The internet is amazing. What are you looking for?”

“I had one guy that liked calling me a mick, and that did it for me. Another called me his girl. Cum-sock worked, too.” Bucky scrubs his face. “Honestly, telling you I like this is almost enough.” Almost, that sickly swirl of dread, but not quite.

“Anything _not_ work?”

“Not sure, but if you question my… mind, who I am, it might cut too quick. Definitely don’t bring the Soldier into it. If it doesn’t fit me or what I’m doing, it might mess with me too much? I’m not sure.”

“No, that makes sense,” Steve says. God, Bucky’s settling already. Steve’s being too reasonable, too kind about this. “I’m not calling you a mick or my girl. You’re not a girl, Buck, you’re my man, and I plan to fuck you.” If Stevie doesn’t want to do it—“What if I call you a slut?”

Bucky inhales a bite of his food. When he clears his airway enough, he chokes, “Language!”

“I’m sorry, Buck, I”—

“No!” Bucky says, laughing. “That would work. It’s good; I just never thought I’d hear you use that word.”

“I want to be clear. I don’t think you wanting sex is a bad thing. In fact, I encourage it.”

“You don’t say,” Bucky says, still chuckling.

“But you _do_ want sex, so it… fits. If you want me to point out how eager my little slut is for my cock, I’m up for it.”

Bucky moans. “Do we really have to deal with these dishes right now?”

“You don’t want coffee?”

“ _Hell_ no, Steve.”

“Yeah? Wait, no. One more question. How do you feel about situational humiliation? Exposure, crawling, the idea of the wrong people watching, that sort of thing?”

“I might panic at that last one, but I wouldn’t mind debasing myself for you.”

“ _Buck_.” Steve stands, gets close enough Bucky can smell him: the spices of the food, a touch of engine oil from his motorcycle, and a musk that screams _Steve_ and _sex_ in Bucky’s mind. “Yeah, let’s leave the dishes for later.”

Steve leads him by the hand to the bedroom, and Bucky remembers the pace, watching the floor as he walks, allowing Steve to guide him. He doesn’t know if Steve will pick up those signals, but even if he doesn’t the role makes Bucky smile.

He’s had a new Dom before, but the anticipation in letting Steve take the lead… It’s different. It’s _Steve_. Bucky has no fear that he could take it too far, that Bucky might really get hurt. He doesn’t have to check in with a buddy later or hold back tonight.

Steve closes the bedroom door, backs Bucky up against it, but only cups his cheek.

“You going to be sweet for me tonight?” Steve asks.

“Oh, yes,” Bucky says.

“Hey, do you want to leave your arm on or take it off?”

Bucky considers that. This model’s pretty comfortable, and he’d rather not experiment with one-armed tie downs during their first scene together.

“On, please.”

“Okay,” Steve whispers and finally tugs him in for a kiss, but breaks it too soon, leaving Bucky panting. He backs up a few paces, pressing on Bucky’s shoulders to indicate he should stay.

“I want to see just how eager you are, you little slut.” The insult _is_ a shock of pain, worse than it’s been from anyone else’s mouth. Yet, it’s fucking delicious, waking his body and making him needy.

“Yes, Sir,” Bucky pants, without the bark he’d put into a military response.

There’s a spark of humor in Steve’s eye, but he keeps the crispness to his voice as he says, “Get naked, then get on all fours.”

 _Fuck_. “Yes, Sir,” Bucky says, and turns to obey. Steve like this is getting him hard faster than he could have guessed.

When Bucky drops his clothes on the floor six inches from the dresser, Steve says, “Don’t be a slob,” in a bored tone. So he caught that. A flare of heat creeps up Bucky’s neck as he glances over. Steve’s bare-chested, but with his slacks still on. Bucky picks his clothes up and folds them with military precision, stacking them on the dresser.

“Better,” Steve allows, and now Bucky’s flushing with the praise. Bucky kneels hard, landing on both knees on the thick rug, and then lets his momentum bring his hands to the floor almost as hard.

“Look at me,” Steve says. He’s sitting on their four-post bed, quilt and blankets folded up and set aside. Something in his gaze sets Bucky’s skin on fire. “Come here with your sexiest crawl, slut.”

Bucky crawls with a ridiculous butt-wiggle while also slinking with as much Hollywood cheese as he can. It gives him a weird shoulder roll and odd balance, but he keeps eye contact, smiling all the way.

Steve laughs. “Horrible.” He leans down, tugging on Bucky’s chin to kiss him, grinning. “Really awful, Buck.”

“I’m sorry, Sir,” Bucky says, failing to look contrite around a smile. “Can I make it up to you somehow?”

“Oh, I’m going to put it into your hide.” Steve’s words give Bucky visions of the bruising he’s going to have. _How long will it last, with my healing rate?_ So much he doesn’t know about himself at 100 years old.

“In the meantime,” Steve continues, “tell me about the kink scene before the war.”

“What?” Bucky suddenly imagines Steve, his childhood buddy, tagging along. How much he’d hoped and feared for that back then.

“Stay right there on your knees, and tell me exactly what you did there. If I had found my way to Greenwich Village while you were there, what would I have seen, slut?”

“Nothing special… in public.”

“What about behind closed doors, then?”

Bucky groans and leans his forehead against the mattress. “Behind the right doors? The right apartments during parties? A lot of leather.”

Steve’s digging around in his bag, but before Bucky can think too much about what he’s getting out, he says, “Interesting. Tell me more. Did you like the leather?”

“I don’t know. Not at first. But it grew on me. It got so that I’d get hard at the smell of my Greenie outfit. I haven’t worn leather like that since”—

“What was your outfit like?”

“Steve…”

“Oh, this is going to be good, isn’t it? Tell me.” Something _tinks_ in that direction, metal on metal, but Bucky’s too distracted to be curious.

“A lot of people had leather corsetry, long gloves, boots, and whips. Some rubber, too. Um, collars.”

“Buck. I didn’t ask about ‘a lot of people’. I asked about your get-up.”

Bucky swallows a swear word and struggles through the discomfort. “I had leather pants. Tight ones with buttons down the hips to make them easy to remove. Shorts in summer. Eventually, I got a harness with eye-hooks. One of my tops liked to use a lead, so I had a collar when I was with him. Masks for special occasions.”

“The buttons were probably obvious. I can see it, walking around some party in winter with a bare chest just so you’d get laid. What a slut.” Steve’s rough voice catches on the last word, evidence he hadn’t had time to practice, but it’s enough. Bucky lets the shame kick in and feeds it to his lust. The whole thing removes the illusion of expectations. Steve knows the worst about him and still wants to fuck him. What more does he need?

“You like that, don’t you?” Steve says in an amused voice that has a direct line to Bucky’s cock.

“Yes, Sir,” Bucky says into the mattress.

“What was that, slut?”

Bucky lifts his head. “Yes, Sir, I like it.”

“Stand up and show me how much you like it.”

Bucky strokes himself twice to make his hard-on perfect. He stands easily enough, spreading his hands with a shy smile. Steve has rigged bright raspberry-red rope to the posts of their four-post bed. Sitting on the bed are a heavy, wide flogger; a tube of lube; rubber—no, nitrile—gloves; a few condoms; and a paddle.

“Very nice,” says Steve, and Bucky resists the urge to hide his cock. “Spread eagle, standing, at the foot of the bed. Face the headboard.”

“Yeah?” Bucky asks.

Steve just looks at him, brooking no argument.

“What if I want a little fight?”

Steve smiles. “I thought you were going to be a good slut for me tonight. If you want my cock, you’re going to have to earn it.”

 _Does the fight count as earning it with you?_ As impatient as he’d been at the time, they really could have talked more. Last time he did this, he could just walk if it didn’t work out. _Well, split the difference I guess._ Bucky stands at the end of the bed and lets Steve wrap rope in a wide cuff around each wrist and ankle. Each rope cuff has a tail about 50-60 centimeters long. Steve ties the tails on the wrist cuffs to the posts at the foot of the bed, pulling his arms wide and high with enough give he can flex or straighten as needed. Bucky observes all the details, uninterested until Steve kisses Bucky, hard and sweet.

“How does that feel?” Steve asks, tugging the wrist cuffs.

“Feels fine,” Bucky says, turning his hands to hold the rope and tugging. It’s good knotwork.

“Test it a bit for me,” Steve says.

Bucky’s pretty sure with this leverage he could tear the footboard apart by its posts. Bucky pulls, lifting himself up on his toes and stopping when the wood creaks. He’ll have to be careful.

“Good. Let me know if it gets uncomfortable. Now, didn’t I say something about spread-eagle?”

Steve kicks Bucky’s feet wider, taking out half the slack in the wrist ropes as Bucky slides lower. While he’s trying to get them back together—he was going to put up a fight for this part—Steve grabs an ankle and secures it in place using the rope cuff. His grip is strong, sure. It’s almost nothing for Steve to get the other in place, too.

“Your hide has a lot to answer for, punk,” Steve says, running his hands over Bucky’s bare skin, his scars, and his arms.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucky says.

Steve hums and steps away. There’s a sharp slap on each of Bucky’s ass cheeks: right, left. Bucky hates that he flinches.

“One for each foot I had to manhandle.”

Steve runs his hands over Bucky’s entire back, neck to heels and over both his metal and flesh arms. Then his front, but not paying any attention to his cock, just a graze. It feels good, but Bucky knows it’s waking up his skin so that what comes next is more intense. _Seems_ _Peggy did a good job._

Then Steve picks up the flogger. He dangles it against Bucky’s back. It’s wide and heavy, and as Steve takes it away Bucky remembers how to breathe for this.  

The first stroke is a light slap, a warmth that sinks into the skin across his back. The second stroke knocks the breath out of him with a short “Oh!” Bucky scrambles for a better grip on the ropes on his wrists. He sucks in his breath on the next stroke, releases it on the following one. It _hurts_ , but in a deep, penetrating way, each hit thudding into his body. It goes on for a while, and Bucky gets into the rhythm, breathing with the timing of the strokes. Just as he wonders if Steve’s going easy, Steve picks up the pace. It’s _too much_. It seriously hurts, and Bucky yells wordlessly. Then suddenly, it doesn’t hurt so much. No, it does, he just can take it now. He’s broken through some sort of barrier. It feels just as good as pleasure, but with a different quality to it.

Then, it’s over. Steve runs his hands over Bucky’s skin again.

“You’re so gorgeous, Buck,” he says. “You took that so well.” Steve touches him, presses kisses and occasional bites into his skin.

“More, Stevie,” Bucky says when he’s pressed against his back and skimming his hands and nails over his front, avoiding using nails where he’s ticklish. “I can take more.”

Steve chuckles, and if Captain America were capable of an evil laugh, that would be it.

“I believe you,” he says. “I’ll give you more, but I need you to be patient. Enjoy this part, too.”

“Stevie,” Bucky whines, letting himself sag and bump his knees against the low, padded footboard usually hidden under the quilt. Steve bites him on his shoulder, and his entire body jerks in the rope. Bucky tips his head to give him better access. “The neck-shoulder, um, muscle,” he says, “please?” He manages to make it breathless instead of plaintive.

Steve kisses the spot. “Here?”

“Yes, please.”

Steve bites him, and his whole body lights up. He starts shaking but clamps down on it, getting his self-control back.

“Buck, you can let go if you want,” Steve says, soothing the bite with a kiss. “You don’t have to control that shaking. I’m with you.”

“I know,” Bucky says. Then frustrated: “I might not know how to let go.”

Bucky can feel Steve’s smile on his skin. “Another good goal.” Then he bites again right next to the first one. “God, I forgot to ask where I can leave marks,” Steve says, lips against Bucky’s skin. 

“Anywhere,” Bucky gasps.

“Yeah, that’s what I was talking about earlier about agreeing to anything. We’ll keep it under clothes for now.”

“Yes, Sir,” Bucky says, because what else is there?

Steve pulls him tight. “You ready?” Before Bucky can answer, Steve kisses him quick and punches him on his shoulders.

Bucky’s back and shoulders really are perfect for this. Steve hits the thick muscle, never the spine, with a _thump, thump_. He can’t explain the emotional side of being hit like this: it’s intense and grueling, but in a way that makes it a gift. Steve’s gift to Bucky. Bucky grunts with each hit, and he thinks about their sparring, how they can go all out with each other, with T’Challa, but no one else here heals fast enough to make it worth the risk.

He doesn’t feel like he’s giving up. He’s fighting the way Steve does: he’s taking everything Steve’s dishing out. It’s glorious, this feeling, and partway through he remembers Steve won’t take it too far, and he lets himself wallow in it. Lets another wall drop.

For the first time, the feeling becomes sexual, not just pleasure but _need_. He’s suddenly close to cumming, and he wonders if he could cum just from being hit by Steve.

Before the bruising can become real damage, Steve stops and bites him again, hard in that perfect place. It feels like he _is_ cumming, then, though his cock is dry. Bucky’s shouting, moaning hard. When he’s done, Steve releases the tails of the wrist cuffs from the bed. Steve rubs Bucky’s arms—both flesh and metal—from fingertips to shoulder, bends each carefully to make sure Bucky has full circulation. It feels amazing in his arm and shoulder.

“Reach for the headboard.”

Bucky can’t get his knees up on the bed with his ankles tied, but he sprawls until his chest is against the bed, ass in the air, scrabbling to get closer to the headboard.

“That’s enough, that’s good,” Steve says. Bucky notices the husky quality, the inherent approval and need there. “Stay.”

Bucky relaxes, doesn’t move, and enjoys the spin of his head. He almost— _almost—_ goes to something the Soldier would have recognized, but Steve’s hand is on his back, soothing, and Bucky claims a little more of his mind for himself.

Then the lube cap _pops_ , and Bucky stops thinking about the Soldier. Bucky’s cock is hard and demanding, just brushing the sheets in this position when he squirms. The lube cap closes. _Snap._

There’s a cold touch of the lube, unexpected, on Bucky’s back. Steve’s hands are gloved and slick, and Bucky arches obediently so that more of his front, including the tip of his cock, is pressed against the bed. The sheets are cool and smooth and warming up fast. _Why is he using lube on my skin?_

“Shhh,” Steve says, “just feel. Don’t overthink it.”

Bucky lets go. The cool of the lube warming on his skin, the sheets. Steve’s hands on his back, shaping him the way Steve wants. He keeps murmuring reassurances but no commands, so Bucky lets himself forget them. _Pop, snap._ Then slick hands on the back of Bucky’s legs, making Bucky aware of their hard shape in this position, the ropes of muscle leading to his ass.

 _Fuck,_ his ass. _Pop, snap._ Steve’s hands explore the shape of his ass, humming appreciatively, then he pries Bucky’s ass cheeks apart with slick fingers, thumbs brushing the stretched and sensitive skin revealed there. Bucky’s relieved he thought to clean thoroughly back there, but the thought scatters as Steve’s slicked and gloved fingers trace his sensitive hole.

As Steve pushes the first finger in, he’s… not clinical exactly, but very _thorough_ , probing the two rings of muscles that clench at the intrusion, pushing in further when they relax without input from Bucky. Bucky hums because it’s not bad, but it’s not much of anything really, even when Steve slides in and out, finger-fucking him.

“You can take anything I throw at you, can’t you? So good for me, Buck. You gonna take my cock as well as you took that beating?”

Steve adds a second finger, a little more on each stroke in. Bucky moans and pushes back into it, but Steve taps his ass with his free hand and says, “Hands to the headboard,” and Bucky reaches, pushing his ass forward again.

Steve removes his fingers, pulls the glove off his free hand, and sits on the bed. The feeling of emptiness doesn’t last long: Fingers on one hand slide carefully back in place, fingers of the other tangle into Bucky’s hair. That feels good, grounding, and Bucky relaxes, the building pleasure losing its tension but not disappearing. Steve’s fingers stroke his prostate, giving him a sort of uncomfortable swim in his gut, but Bucky decides it’s not bad. Steve continues to stroke and probe and just before it gets a little bad, he tugs Bucky’s hair and Bucky relaxes again and that weird swimmy pleasure starts from the beginning.

“That’s good, is it?” Steve asks, giving Bucky’s hair another tug.

“Yeah, ’s good, Sir,” Bucky slurs. “Ass thing weird, hair makes it good.”

“I think you’ll love the ass thing in a bit.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “Yes, Sir. Please, Sir.”

“Bend your knees a little. I’m going to take you to the next level first.”

Bucky can only guess Steve’s talking about going deeper, so he just says, “Yes, Sir,” and bends his knees, pushing them into the padded end of the bed. Steve’s fingers leave him empty again, there’s a snap of the glove being removed, movement as Steve gets up, a rustle of something being picked up, and the cold paddle touches Bucky’s ass gently. He jumps, then settles back into the position Steve wants, knees bent with his back arched and cock against the sheets.

The first hits are gentle, just like with the flogger. Steve shuffles his feet, getting a good angle to swing. _Tap. Tap. Whack!_

The first hit has Bucky jumping forward, and he’s not sure if it’s from the impact or his body’s reaction. The rush of pleasure-pain floods in after, the friction of the sheets on his cock tipping his body’s balance into pleasure. Bucky moans, and it’s too much work to cut it short.

 _Whack!_ Bucky’s body scrabbles, fingers twisting the sheets and nerves failing to process this sensation into anything useful. _Whack!_ Bucky jumps, and the sheets feel great against his skin. He wants nipple clips. _Whack!_ His knees bend, lifting his bare feet and curling toes off the floor and putting pressure on his cock. _Whack!_ Slightly different angle. The restraints only let his feet get so high, then his feet drop a few inches. _Whack!_ A lot of this jumping is his own body: his feet dance and twitch freely on their tethers.

 _Whack!_ Bucky glances back over his shoulder, and he didn’t know Steve could _look_ like that: fierce and possessive and just a bit awed. Then focus, wind up— _Whack!_ This time, their eyes meet, and Steve gives Bucky a heated smile. Bucky groans, and Steve focuses on his ass again.

 _Whack!_ Bucky has to look away because his body shakes now, hard, and Steve is with him so he sees no reason to stop. If he can stop. _Whack!_ The shaking is interrupted by the jump Bucky’s body makes then resumes. _Whack!_ Bucky just lets his body shake, floats on the bubble of good that’s filling out his insides. _Whack!_ God this feels good, and Bucky tells Steve with moans he barely catches the breath to sustain.

 _Whack!_ There’s nothing, no time or place but now in Steve’s rhythm. _Whack!_ Bucky doesn’t want anything else, can’t even imagine anything but this. _Whack!_ It’s perfect. The pain-pleasure is perfect. His headspace is perfect. Steve is perfect.

 _Whack!_ Then he remembers Steve is going to fuck him tonight, and he needs it. _Whack!_ Bucky pulls against the bed, puts his feet down, rubs against the sheets in a shattered rhythm. He remembers words.

“Stevie, Stevie, want you, please, want you,” he begs.

“Buck,” Steve says like a swear word, and the paddle hits the bed. Instead of fucking Bucky, Steve pulls him up standing, kissing him hard and sideways, pressed against Bucky’s back. Then Steve wraps an arm high against Bucky’s chest and bites that place again, and while Bucky’s still jumping from that, Steve slaps his nipple.

“Fuck!” This _hurts_.

“Language,” Steve says and slaps the other nipple, hard. Bucky yells, but it’s not the same: The pain goes bright and _sharp_. “Hold onto me,” Steve says, so Bucky grabs his thighs, rope cuffs against his skin and tails down Steve’s legs. Then Steve’s elbow pins Bucky’s arm back, and before he can think Steve slaps his cock.

“Yeagh!” Bucky shouts, rocking in Steve’s arms and gripping tighter to his thighs so he doesn’t use his arms to block Steve. It’s horrible, it _hurts_ , and it’s also good or at least going to be good. Steve is doing this for a reason; he’s got something in mind, but oh, _fuck!_ does that hurt. Steve slaps his balls, a glancing blow that screams through him worse than anything yet and stays with him. Then the slaps speed up, falling randomly in his most sensitive places and taking down Bucky’s defenses. It’s good: Steve has him raw, limp, just jumping and taking it, saying “Yes, yes, yes…” with Steve’s cock rubbing against his ass.

Then Stevie bends Bucky over again, so gently, head turned away from the mattress. Bucky is like a rag doll. He tries to help, but at best he just flops his arms in the right general direction. Steve folds Bucky’s arms behind his back, elbows sticking out, and ties the rope cuffs together. The lube from before is sticky. Bucky grabs his own forearms, but his hands fall loose. Steve leaves, comes back. There’s a zip and a tearing noise, the condom packet.

 _Pop. Snap._ His ass responds with remembered swimmy pleasure at that sound. Bucky moans a little.

“You gonna be good for me, Buck?” Steve asks.

“Yes, God, I’ll be so good for you, Stevie,” Bucky promises. “Please.”

“If you cum first, I’m going to keep fucking you with my hand on your cock, until I’m done,” Steve warns him. “Won’t that be nice?”

Bucky whimpers. It will be cruel, and Bucky will love it.

Steve enters Bucky _slow_ , with his hand over the rope on Bucky’s wrists keeping him steady, grounded in his body. It’s good, the feeling of fullness. Bucky can feel every inch of him. He grinds against Bucky’s ass, not stroking in and out but _moving_ and oh, is that wonderful. Then Steve gathers a handful of hair in his fist and tugs just like he did before.

Suddenly, Bucky can’t pay attention to what Steve is doing anymore because his entire body is hurtling toward orgasm. He didn’t think he could move much, but now he moans and his body writhes in a thousand ways, all encouraging Steve to fuck him.

Steve wraps a hand around Bucky’s cock, pulling on his hair and finally stroking into him. It feels like an arms race: he wants to cum before Steve, but not _too_ much before him. Steve wants him to cum as fast as possible, with a sweet, intense stroke he’d learned from Bucky’s body over the last few months. He shifts up Bucky’s body an inch, and suddenly familiar swimmy pleasure is warring with the brighter, sweeter pleasure from the touch on his cock.

Bucky’s overwhelmed. Held by Steve, marked by him, surrounded by him, dominated and topped by him. Steve is heaping good sensations on him, playing with his body to see how it will respond. That thought almost does it, but Steve doesn’t seem close so Bucky fights it.

Just when he’s got it under control, Steve says, “Cum for me,” and Bucky’s orgasm hits him hard, pleasure convulsing through him and making him grateful for the restraints. He was wrong about Steve: he follows close on Bucky’s orgasm, hand and hips hitching for a moment, but a tug on Bucky’s hair giving him another wave before Steve gets the rhythm back.

When Steve pulls out, Bucky’s barely started reacting to the overstimulation, but then Steve’s hand doesn’t stop.

“I know this hurts,” Steve says, “but I think you can take it. Not much longer, Buck.”

It hurts. It hurts _so fucking much_ , well beyond what it should, like Steve’s wearing sandpaper gloves. This goes on through a fog of pain-pleasure, a sort of drifting drowsiness.

And just like before, bam! suddenly Bucky doesn’t care. It’s fine, this pain. It’s better than fine. Bucky can take anything, can be anything for Stevie. He tries to say so, but he has to come down enough to talk, and he realizes that would make Stevie sad. Stevie wants him like this, he can be like this.

Then Stevie stops, and that’s fine, too.

“There you are,” Steve murmurs. “Look at you.”

Bucky has no idea what Steve is talking about, but he’s happy, so Bucky’s happy.

“Let’s get you out of these.” Steve yanks on something behind Bucky’s back, then yanks at each ankle, then rolls Bucky over and bundles him all the way onto the bed for the first time tonight, trailing red rope tails from his wrists and ankles.

They wrap into each other. Steve’s skin feels good, he’s warm, and his voice is the Center of the Universe.

“You did so well for me,” Steve says, holding Bucky close. “God, Buck, you felt good, you _looked_ good. You took everything I gave you so well. You made the best _sounds_. If I had a tape recording of your sounds tonight, I would be able to get hard any time I wanted.”

Bucky hums and snuggles closer to Steve.

“Look at you,” Steve starts over again. Bucky loses track of what Steve says after that, but he’s pretty sure he agrees in all the right places.

Then suddenly, Bucky’s heart is racing, his breathing picks up. Something’s wrong. He opens his eyes, confused disoriented but Steve’s here.

“Shhh, Buck, this is normal. Everything’s fine. You’re crashing from the adrenaline. I’m here. I’m with you.”

Adrenalin was one of the chemicals Hydra used in his unfreezing cycle, wasn’t it? _What if the Soldier comes out here?_ He can’t do that to Steve right now.

Bucky moans and burrows into Steve. It’s definitely a moan, not a whimper.

“Breathe, Buck, that’s it. I need you to relax for me. You’re getting it out of your system. Sometimes this happens. Just relax and you’ll be fine. Better than fine. There you go.”

Bucky understands: _It’s leaving my system._ He finally relaxes, and the bliss takes over.

“That’s it, Buck, just float here.”

After a maybe fifteen minutes but probably an hour or more, Steve wraps Bucky in soft blankets. “Be right back,” he says with a peck, but Bucky doesn’t mind. He feels good, still floating in bliss. This is the something sweet Steve promised. To think Bucky had thought this part might last an hour on a good day.

Steve returns with his sketchbook. He props himself against the headboard, drawing and smiling, while Bucky floats and eventually falls hard asleep next to him on the bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos are light, comments are life! My fic writing thrives on these things, you have no idea.
> 
> Edit: thought you should know... because of all the hits, kudos, and comments on this fic, I've written a Bucky/OC set in the 30's. The OC doesn't know his stuff like this Steve, but it was still fun to write. Thank you for the encouragement. I also have an idea how it would go with Peggy. Could be fun.


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